


Death's Curse Undone

by QueenCarlton



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Creature Fic, D/s, Dom Harry Potter, F/M, Implied Mpreg, Kind of Epilogue Compliant, M/M, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Non betaed, Sub Draco Malfoy, Veela Draco Malfoy, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 09:16:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18312674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCarlton/pseuds/QueenCarlton
Summary: More than 400 years ago, Death cast a curse on the Black line.Now, Veela Draco Malfoy is afflicted by it.Can Draco's Mate break the Curse? Or must he suffer for the sins of his ancestors?





	1. Prologue

It was the spring of 1583 and Jonathan Charlus Black was dying.

As he lay on the floor, gasping, a bitter hate rose within him for the Veela who stood before him. Kiera, his wife, his Veela mate, and his murderess.

Memories rose within him, of how she'd always held him in her thrall, separated him from his friends, used him in bed, drained his coffers,... and cuckolded him. Which was what had brought them to this point. A Veela could not survive rejection from his or her mate but there were ways around that, ways involving the Veela allure and Potioneering talents, ways Kiera had known. However, any compulsion can be broken if the will or the emotion involved is stronger than it and seeing his wife spread out in submission to another man, in his own house, in his OWN damned bed had broken the compulsion for him.

He had begun his rejection, and Kiera had stabbed him before he could complete it.

Jonathon Charlus Black died knowing his murderess would survive as his only heir.

Jon slowly came to in white formlessness. He rose, finding himself naked and unblemished and surrounded in white light. Before he could think any further, a dark, formless, menacing creature approached him. Jon cowered a little but a gentle and confused voice spoke from the heart of the creature.

"Jonathon Charlus Black, why are you here?"

"I do not know,", Jon replied, somewhat uncertainly, "the last thing I remember is being stabbed by my wife."

"Your WIFE?!", exclaimed the voice incredulously, "Were you not assigned a Veela mate?".

"I was.", replied Jon, "It was she who did this."

The creature paced. "This is wrong - you're not supposed to be dead for another 20 - something years." It whirled to fix its eyes (or what felt like eyes - there was only the sensation of being stared at) on Jonathon. "A Veela should not be able to harm its mate, leave alone outright murder! You were meant to die of a manticore attack on vacation! Tell me how this perversion came to happen!"

Jon told him (he'd decided that the creature was a 'him') the entire story, after getting dressed in a robe the... surroundings, he had no idea if it qualified as a room or a hall or whatever, manifested for him and sitting down cross-legged on the smooth and warm floor.

At the end of the recital, Death was in a rage.

Jonathon watched in fascination as the creature, it had admitted to being Death, stormed up and down muttering to himself in some unknown language, the tone making it more than clear that whatever was being said was in no way complimentary.

Finally it came to stand in front of the dead wizard. "You shouldn't be dead right now so you can appeal for wrongful death in the Courts of Dis. However, I should warn you that there is a very long waiting line and it is likely that your great-grandsons will be greybeards ere you get home to live out the years still due to you. Also, coming back from death is not exactly a common phenomenon so you would likely be hounded mercilessly without any protection from family. For these reasons, I would offer you an alternative, should you wish to take it. Will you hear it?"

Jon considered his options. The painting Death had given him of his prospective future should he attempt to return to the mortal world was extremely unattractive. Meanwhile, the idea of an alternative intrigued him - what could be worth 20 years of life?

"What is the alternative?"

"A boon. You can ask for one boon, one boon that will affect ONLY the mortal world and NOT in a deadly fashion. I will grant this boon, using the extra 20 years worth of life force that I will receive from you to power it and you will enter the afterlife normally - just as if you were meant to die today."

Jon gaped at him, disbelieving. A boon? A boon that he couldn't even use for himself now that he was dead? But then it filtered through, what Death was offering him.

'A chance to influence the mortal world from the great beyond.'

Jon remembered Kiera's treatment of him. Remembered the look of impassive disgust on her face as he had lain, gasping and choking on his own blood. And he knew exactly what he wanted to ask.

"Are you sure?", asked Death, one last time. "Yes.", said Jon, resolute, "I want her descendants to be full Veela, minus the wings and the claws and the whole other form of course, and I want them to be treated like I was. I want their mates immune to their allure. I want them desperate to please their mates... Merlin be their slaves for all I care - I was her fucking lapdog! I want them to hurt - to feel the mental agony that I felt at even a whisker of disapproval, a breath of censure. I want to create a brand of submissive Veela, a brand for which meeting their mate shall mean only suffering and pain, a brand that all the world will know to be from Kiera's bloodline.". "You know,", said Death, "if we are to do this we will have to make the bloodline impervious to rejection. And that will affect the mortality issue.". "You could make it so that rejection causes them unbearable, exquisite pain but they still must keep going back because giving up on their mate is their death sentence?", Jon offered. "Yeah, that should work.", said Death, standing and contemplating and organising the curse in his mind. In a minute, he realised something and turned apologetically to Jon, "I'm sorry, Jon, but we don't have the power for this - a constant curse requires a constant sacrifice and as you already fathered your son on Kiera we don't have a constant sacrifice.". Jon looked simultaneously betrayed and enraged. Death hurried to continue, "Its not so bad, we just need to come up with a way for the curse to be undone by someone at a later date.", he winked, moving in further, "We can make it very, VERY difficult.". A slow smile spread across Jon's face. He sat thoughtfully for a bit and then looked up at Death, "In the end, the desire to use and abuse their Veela mate shall only be a compulsion for the mates of Kiera's descendants, right?", Jon asked. "Yeah, a pretty strong compulsion but still only a compulsion.", agreed Death. "So let's make it that if one of the mates can overcome that compulsion to have a loving relationship with his or her Veela then that mate's descendants by their Veela shall be exempt from the curse. What do you say?" Death pictured the curse in his mind with this exemption and smiled, "Can do.".

Seven months later, Jacob Daniel Black came into the world as the first bearer of Death's curse.


	2. Realisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco becomes a Veela and finds his Mate.

Draco Malfoy went to sleep as a wizard.

Draco Malfoy woke up as a Veela.

Needless to say, Draco Malfoy was NOT enjoying his 17th birthday.

Lucius Malfoy screamed accusations and imprecations at Narcissa, Cruciating her all the while. Narcissa begged for mercy. "I told you- I told you this would happen! Please! Please don't! Aaaah! It's - It's the Black curse, Lucius!" "My. Son. Is. Not. A. BLACK.", gritted Lucius, punctuating each word with a curse. "It's hap-happened to ev-eve-very child of the line! Even me!"

Long after his father was done, Draco approached his mother for questions. Kneeling down beside her he spoke quietly, his gaze turned away from her.

"I trust then, that this comes from you?"

"Yes, my son."

"Is it truly inescapable?"

"Yes. You would've seen it with your cousins if we hadn't been estranged from Andromeda and no other descendants of the bloodline bore children in my generation. At least, none that I know of."

"Who's bloodline?"

"Jacob Black. He was the first to be affected by this curse and it has passed to all his descendants. Legend has it that his mother was a full-blooded Veela who murdered her husband, her mate. He cursed her with his dying breath."

"What exactly does the 'curse' entail?" 

"You shall have the appearance of a Veela in their humanoid form. You shall also have their allure and their compulsion to find their mate. What you WON'T have is the capacity to turn into their bird-like battle-form and your allure will not work on your mate. In fact, your mate will very likely hate you and abuse you in every way. You will also always have to play the submissive to your mate."

"A submissive? Me? But my natural tendencies have always been to dominate." 

"I was the same, my son. Until I met your father - my Veela mate. You will see. When you meet your mate you'll know." 

"How will I know that he or she IS my mate?"

"You will be attracted to him. He will be unaffected by your allure. Actual touch - skin-on-skin contact will confirm it; establishing the bond. Once the bond is set, there is no escape. You will long for him, pine for him, and he will be repulsed by you. You will be the target of his hatred, his rage, his abuse; yet you must always treat him, court him and obey him as your Dominant. You must. If you seek to avoid him, every moment that you do so you will spend it in torment, in absolute agony... drifting ever closer to the shores of Dis yet never able to reach it." "Do you understand, my son?"

Draco's face was paler than bone, yet set in lines of grim determination, when he replied, "Yes, mother."

Draco went to Hogwarts for his seventh year, resolved not to touch anyone. Narcissa had said that he'd know his mate by their hate of him; but everyone hated the young Death Eater. As frustrating as Harry Potter had been, Draco wished for his presence now. The boy would've challenged him as an equal. He would've been a beacon of hope, uplifting the morale of the school. With him, Draco would've been met with determined opposition, not sullen hatred.

Draco was weeping, crying, outright bawling... It was the Battle of Hogwarts and Crabbe was dead. Dead. Dead after attempting to murder Granger. Dead after casting Fiendfyre while not knowing how to stop it. Dead while he and Greg were alive. Alive because of Potter's mercy.

As he wept, he realised that something within him felt different. He panicked, searching frantically within himself. Fiendfyre consumed body and soul alike. Had he- had he been left with a mutilated soul? Forever incomplete? Instead, he sensed, bloody Merlin he sensed the bond. The Veela bond. The bond that spelt eternal servitude and damnation. He tested the cord, wondering. He hadn't touched anyone this entire year; hadn't felt any overwhelming attraction; he checked himself every morning, the bond hadn't been there this morn... and then he remembered a hand reaching through smoke as he had lain across Greg a few minutes ago, convinced of his impending death... he groaned. The first person he'd touched since his birthday and it was his bondmate. And it was Harry fucking Potter. 'Universe, why do you hate me?'

He set to work trying to rouse Goyle.


	3. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where emotions boil over and Narcissa finds out.

Harry stood breathing heavily in the centre of the clearing that had formerly held Aragog's family.

The war was over. The repair of Hogwarts was well under way. He was in his 'eighth year' which meant he was to give his NEWTS at the end of the academic year. He was an intern in the Ministry's Auror Department alongside Ron. Kingsley had promised him the Head position as soon as he passed out. Hermoine was similarly an intern in Magical Law Enforcement and similarly poised to take up Madam Bones' position. On the home front, he had officially adopted Teddy Lupin who was currently living with Andromeda, his grandmother. He was engaged to Ginny Weasley. Ron had asked him to be his best man. George was finally on the way to recovery after Fred's death. Lee Jordan had joined him as his partner in WWW. The Death Eater trials had been concluded. Lucius Malfoy was behind bars. Narcissa and Draco were free, as they deserved to be. Draco was at school with him. He, himself, was often out of the school catching fleeing Death Eaters due to his intern position. All was well. Except for him.

Harry sighed and looked down at the ground. Despite what everyone believed, Harry DID have negative emotions. Anger. Hate. The need to lash out. This was where Harry came to exorcise those emotions now that so many people knew about the Room of Requirement. He smiled sourly. People were always eager to learn the counter-curses and anti-hexes he taught the DA (which had now been formally declared as the student branch of the Order) but no one ever thought to ask how he knew how to perform the curses and hexes, many of them Dark or verging on it, themselves. Harry knew. He knew because this was where he came to perform them.

Draco Malfoy fled to the Forbidden Forest, searching blindly for distraction. He'd made as few advances towards Harry as he could get away with and they had all been unthinkingly brushed off or gone unregistered; leaving him in an odd limbo. Worse, his mother had realised that he's met his bondmate and had been pestering him for the information. He'd finally told her and now was fleeing. Draco hesitated a moment at the fringes of the Forest and then plunged in. The Forest had always terrified him and now he needed to feel something, anything, other than this burning need for Potter. Hopefully, he thought, terror would suffice. He remembered how the giant Acromantula the Death Eater's had driven out of the Forest had terrified him. He decided to find the clearing that had been their home.

Draco stared, gasping, falling to his knees in submission, keening. He hadn't expected to find his mate here, his shields had been down. Harry heard a sound that didn't belong and cast a full Body Bind before he even registered who stood there. He walked over to the frozen boy. He meant to release him and apologise, he did; but his Dark side was too close to the surface. Draco closed his eyes. He meant to resist and deny, he did; but he didn't have any defences.


	4. Taunts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Harry is a complete jerk.

Harry loosened the bind and prowled around Draco. Draco tracked his movements as much as he could. He couldn't speak yet but he didn't have anything to say anyway.

"Look who it is.", Harry crooned, 'The failed Death Eater. Seriously, how can one fail at being a boot licker?". He moved to yank Draco's head up, looking him in the eyes. "How did you it? Or was it not demeaning enough for you?", his eyes burned maniacally, his behaviour not too dissimilar from the Dark Lord he'd conquered, "Maybe you're more of a cocksucker? You'd like that, wouldn't you? Wanna suck my cock, Draco?".

Draco closed his eyes. He was frightened, confused and desperate. On one side, Potter's behaviour was recognisable, almost comforting, in its familiarity in a world that had gone and stood on its head. He couldn't deal with the change in the Malfoy fortunes. In the effect of the Malfoy name. He couldn't handle his status as a cursed submissive and helpless Veela. But this, this he could handle. A random and asinine temper requiring a high tolerance for pain and an equally large affinity for obedience and grovelling? He'd been handling that since the Dark Lord came to live at Malfoy Manor.

He let himself go lax. His posture as submissive as he could make it with the restrictions imposed on his body. Not struggling but gliding. Letting the binds, letting Harry, hurt him as he would. Focussing on feeling. On his mate's willing, albeit cruel, touch.

"Look at me, Malfoy!", Harry growled, shaking the blond roughly by his grip in the other's hair. He wanted a reaction damnit. He wanted the pain, the grief etched into his face, visible in his eyes. In that moment, he wanted to BREAK the blond. Break him as he had been broken in the struggle against Voldemort.

Why should he be the only one to suffer? The one to sacrifice, time after time? To lose family & friends? To grow up friendless and abused? To always stand for the Light? To be good and kind and fair to a world that gave him none of those considerations? He would have his revenge on the Wizarding World, and he'd take it out of the person of Draco Malfoy.

"Answer me, Malfoy! You wanna suck my cock?" Draco opened his eyes and nodded mutely. Minutely. The grip in his hair tightened. Harry's visage darkened. Fear and dread twined and coiled in Draco's gut. He'd do whatever Harry demanded of him. But what would Harry demand?

"Do you know how many people want this cock, Malfoy? I got three dozen marriage propositions in the mail today. People stop me on the road to proposition me. The whole world wants a piece of me and you think you can get it with a simple nod?! That wasn't even a proper nod! You want this cock Malfoy, you're gonna beg for it.  Well what are you waiting for? Beg!" Draco swallowed. So THAT was the name of the game. Well, at least he knew. "Please, please my Lord... " His head was jerked up again. "My Lord? How dare you? I'm not Voldemort! How dare you confuse me with him? How dare you compare me with him? I am the Master of Death, the descendant and heir of the Peverells! The Heir of Griffindor and Slytherin! Do not address me by any title you used for that filthy half-breed - the misbegotten whelp of a drugged Muggle and a desperate witch!" "Sorry! Sorry!", Draco shrieked. "Please Harry, please Master, I beg you, I need you, please..." He was lost to his submission. All was forgotten except the need for Harry. To calm him. To take whatever he was willing to give. He knew it wouldn't be much. This was his lot - the taunts, the cruelty. It was all he could hope to earn, under Death's curse. He just hoped he could survive this encounter with no injuries that he couldn't heal or disguise. It was a good thing that he was training to be a Healer. Neither could control themselves. Harry forced Draco's jaw open. Draco relaxed and straightened his throat. Harry fucked his face. Draco gasped and cried. Harry gave him no quarter, using him with no thought for his comfort until he came in long pulses down the boy's throat. The cruelty rose up in him again and he pulled out deliberately, squirting over the blonde's face and into his eyes. Draco yelped as much as he could at the additional sting in his watering eyes. Harry weaved on his legs and leant against a tree; only to straighten up quickly to catch Draco's wrist when he moved to wipe the come out of his eyes. "Oh no you don't! That's my mark on you. Of my ownership. You don't get to remove it, slut." "B-But I can't see!", protested Draco weakly. He was still collapsed on the Forest floor. Still partially bound. "Fine.", Harry grumbled, releasing the lad. "But the eyes get cleared last and it all goes down your throat. See to it." He turned and walked away into the Forest, releasing the curse as he went. Draco did what he had to, he obeyed.


	5. Presentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Narcissa is brave and Lucius is shocked.

Draco walked slowly back to the castle. His mind was blank. His emotions a mess. He had performed fellatio on Harry Potter. Harry Potter. His bond-mate, his Master. The one man who's approval he NEEDED. Needed like he needed air to breathe. NO, needed it more than that. There were worse fates than death.

Harry Potter. The Griffindor Golden Boy. The Boy-Who-Lived. The boy who made it into the history books at age one. The boy the Wizarding World owed its salvation to. The boy who was Master of Death. The boy who; despite being renowned for kindness and forgiveness; had just used Draco like a two-penny whore. And yet, the boy due to whom he was at Hogwarts rather than Azkaban. He did not know what to do.

Narcissa Malfoy had none of the qualms that plagued her son. For herself she was weak. For her son she was strong.

She barged in upon Lucius, explained the situation to him in between screaming due to his Cruciactus curses and the punishment of Death's curse and demanded that he join her in an expedition to Hogwarts to talk to the Headmistress.

She did not stop to consider what Lucius and the curse would do to her. Her son was more important.

And so it happened that Harry was summoned that evening to a meeting in the Headmistress's office with the three Malfoys.

"Ah! Mr. Potter, you're here.", said Headmistress McGonagall. "Yes, Ma'am. You called?" Harry maintained an impassive demeanour, wondering internally what was happening. Shite! Had Malfoy blabbed about what happened in the Forest? That hadn't been him, honest. He'd just lost control. What the hell was Malfoy doing there, anyway? That where he went just for the purpose of losing control. MALFOY had invaded HIS sanctuary. Not the other way round! 'So you invaded his BODY?', a snide voice murmured in his head and he couldn't, quite, dismiss it. Malfoy HAD been in the wrong, but he wasn't quite so guiltless himself.

Professor McGonagall finished, " - and therefore Mr. Malfoy has come to the conclusion that you are his Veela mate. According to the Concordat of 1648 you are therefore effectively his fiancée. I'll leave you all to hash out the details as a family-to-be.". Harry caught only the tail of McGonagall's speech but this was enough to rouse the young man to fury. His Dark side came out to play and it was perhaps just as well that McGonagall wasn't there to witness it.

Harry took McGonagall's seat and spoke in a voice as cold as ice, "Explain.". "It's quite simple, Mr. Potter.", said Narcissa, evenly, "You owe me a life debt, I'm calling it in. You will marry my son.". "You forget, Mrs. Malfoy,", spoke Harry softly, dangerously, "that your son also owes ME a life debt. Nay, he owes me his very soul. Not to mention that all three of you are obliged to me for keeping you out of Azkaban. Also, I am already contractually engaged to Ms. Weasley. Lastly, you are welcome to address me by any of my titles but I'm not Mr. Potter anymore, Lord Potter would be more accurate.". He sat back in his seat, one beringed hand on display - Prince Peverell, Duke Slytherin, Duke Griffindor, Lord Black and Lord Potter. 'You- You've got FIVE seats in the Wizengamot?", Lord Malfoy squeaked. "Oh no!", exclaimed Harry, waving the ringed hand dismissively, "Many more. I just ran out of fingers. Lord Voldemort had a bad habit of collecting titles, you see,", he continued noting the rapidly paling man's flinch at the name, "and thanks to the ritual in my 4th year, I'm the de facto heir. Would you like me to prove it?". Not waiting, Harry reached out along the link he had to the man's Dark Mark and made his presence felt. Lucius gasped and clutched his left arm. Harry smirked before releasing the man.

While the elder Malfoys were still frozen in their shock and disbelief, he sent a smaller tendril of power into Draco's Mark, refraining from the pain he'd gifted the elder Malfoy. "Draco is my servant, Lord Malfoy, and that's all that he'll ever be."

Draco nodded. All he could comprehend that he had a bond with Harry. Sure, it was almost a slave bond but truly, was the Veela bond any better? He was a slave either way.

Lord Malfoy recovered. "What do you want? What do you want to accept my son? His dowry is considerable. It will only increase. His title..." Harry laughed. "His title? I have more titles than I have fingers. His wealth? The Black fortune alone is worth thrice the Malfoy one. Add in the other vaults and I could match the Malfoy wealth ten times over and barely feel the difference. And you think to tempt me with wealth and title?" Malfoy Senior quailed. He had always traded on his wealth and title. With neither being of value, he could not think what to do. Narcissa knew better. "Your Grace,", she spoke softly, her entire mien speaking of submission, "do we truly have NOTHING you could want?".

Harry stood and looked at Narcissa, noting her submission, the barely concealed pleading in her voice. His gaze slid over to her husband. He looked lost, bewildered. Draco had slid out of his seat and knelt on the floor, his head bowed. In the face of such an angry and dominating Harry, he could not conceal his submission, especially after how he'd submitted completely to Harry earlier in the day.

"You already gave me what I wanted, Lady Malfoy.", he smiled a small, cruel smile, "More than half a decade ago, I knelt in the Chamber of Secrets in a situation of your husband's making. Basilisk venom in my veins. My fiancée minutes from death. Voldemort nigh powerful enough to exist outside his Hocrux. When I extracted myself from that situation, a burning desire rose within me to see the architect of those circumstances in the same situation. I wanted to see Lord Malfoy as helpless, as desperate, as I was then.", he swept an arm in Lord Malfoy's direction, "Behold.".

"Good day, Madame." And Lord Potter, Prince Peverell, swept out of the room.

A stricken family witnessed the death of all hope.


	6. Pleading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Draco secures himself an agreement.

Draco wandered the castle in a daze, wondering what would happen to him. His mate hated him.

Oh God! Crushing helplessness and despair overtook the boy and he collapsed in the middle of the corridor uncaring of who saw him or what they did to him. What did it matter anymore? He wasn't the 'Prince of Slytherin' anymore. The Malfoy name was dust. His Master had rejected him. What did a few hexes and curses matter? He already faced a fate worse than death. And he couldn't even blame the curse. No, he, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, had to be the first submissive Veela idiotic enough to make his Mate hate him all on his own! He didn't even need the curse to make his life miserable.

Suddenly, Draco straightened. He remembered Potter's titles - Duke Slytherin, Prince Peverell... and Harry had been a Parselmouth. There had to be some Slytherin in the boy. And... Harry had admitted hate for his father, not him. Not him! Draco's mind raced. Maybe, just maybe he could negotiate with Potter on his own. What did he have that Potter could possible want? A memory came to him - Potter's behaviour in the Forest, his indisputably DARK behaviour. He could offer to be Potter's safeguard in this. Harry couldn't afford to be seen as Dark, he needed someone to guard him - someone on whom he could safely unleash his Dark side. It would be horrific and frightening but it would keep him alive and out of worse pain. Wondering when he got to a point where he would take being the focal point of someone's Dark nature as the more painless option, Draco got up off the floor and drew his cloak about himself as he went to look for Harry.

Harry, meanwhile, had told Ron, Hermoine and Ginny about his interview with the Malfoys. The answers he got were NOT what he expected.

Ron had blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, "Err, well mate it's just that - a Veela mate?! That's something we're brought up to really want and you've got it... yeah, seems like a real waste to throw it away.". Ginny had gasped and put a hand on her chest, "Oh Harry! I love that you would choose me over a Veela but - if you don't mate with Malfoy, he'll be in agony - it's a fate worse than death. Fleur told me. And... I don't know about you all - I'm not part of the Golden trio - I don't have as much war experience as the rest of you - but there's been enough death Harry, I don't want to see any more.".

Hermoine had looked at him and spoken softly, "Harry, this curse comes from the Black family line. It could just as easily have been Sirius in the same position. Think on that.".

Harry now stood alone with a Ginny who was still trying to convince him to give Malfoy a chance. "But Gin, I don't want to lose you!" Ginny took a deep breath and gathered her courage, "And you won't. I'm willing to share. I can't say I'm happy about that because I'm not but so long as Malfoy can refrain from making any public claim on you I can deal with it. To save a life, I can deal with it. But give him a chance, Harry. Give him a chance or -", she shut her eyes briefly before continuing, "or you WILL lose me.". Ginny slipped out of his arms, running away before her resolve faltered. Hary stormed away angrily. But underneath his anger there was a sense that he might have wronged Malfoy.

Malfoy paled and reconsidered his idea. Sure, he'd set out to convince Harry but he needed him to at least be calm! But - Harry had already seen him. Harry saw Malfoy - he refused to call him Draco - and his mood immediaately worsened. Sure, he had to give the ferret a chance - but did he have to turn up right fucking NOW? He sighed. Might as well get it over with. He stomped towards the prat.

"Malfoy, I, err... I think we need to talk.", Harry said gruffly. He felt embarrassed now. He was here to talk to Malfoy about being his Veela mate - and had been sent to do it by his fiancee! Another part of him wondered how what he was thinking would even work - seperate houses? A mate and a wife? He wasn't going to give up or demean Ginny - so that would make Malfoy his... mistress? Or... mister? Oh God!

Malfoy stared. Potter wanted to talk? A part of him was jumping up and down screaming. That was his Veela side - the side that was just glad that his mate was giving him attention. His Slytherin side was also pleasantly surprised. He'd thought he'd have to beg and plead for a private audience - and here Harry was inviting him to one!

Harry turned around. At one time, Malfoy might have hexed him. Now, he just followed.

Malfoy begged. Harry turned to the wall, knocking his head against it a couple of times. Malfoy begging was just wrong. He couldn't handle this Malfoy, he preferred the one he had to fight. 'The one he had to beat into submission.', whispered his Darker side. Draco was beginning to panic. Harry was losing interest - he was banging his head against the wall - not paying attention - frustrated... Merlin! He couldn't take a rejection. Not on this. And Potter was known for being inflexible - just look at their own history! A rejection would, at the very least, cut off this avenue of approach; and he wasn't sure if he could currently think up another.

"Har- Potter,", he whispered softly, swallowing and changing his form of address at Harry's glare, "please; I, no we both, NEED this - what's stopping us? Please, c- can't we have an arrangement?". He put the ball in Potter's court, not knowing what more to say - how to plead his case... He hadn't ever been so terrified in his life. He felt on the verge of laughing hysterically - insanely. His father's idea of disciplining his son, his OWN flesh-and-blood incorporated the Cruciactus Curse; he'd had the bloody Dark Lord for a houseguest the past year; he'd been Marked as a Death Eater, a certified Dark Wizard at sixteen... - and none of it had caused him as much sheer mind-numbing soul-searing terror as the possibility that Potter might reject him. For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy understood what it was to be helpless and full of impotent rage and hate.

Harry felt the Dark rage rise up in himself again. 'both of them? BOTH of them?' "Tell me, Malfoy,", he sneered, "exactly how would an 'arrangement', as you term it, serve ME?" Malfoy swallowed and forced himself to reply calmly, logically. Emotion and appealing to Harry's better side wouldn't win him this - Harry didn't HAVE a better side when it came to him. He had to fight with logic; and maybe by luring and tempting Harry's Darker tendencies. Steeling himself he replied quietly, "How about what happened earlier in the Forest, Potter? I cannot see Ginny Weasley indulging such, shall we say, aggressive proclivities?". "Are you saying that you would?" The voice was mocking, baiting. "I would have no choice.", Draco replied flatly. He locked eyes with Harry, noting the taken-aback expression on his face, "A willing catamite, Harry. That's what I'm offering you. Someone on whom you can enact your deepest, darkest fantasies - give your Dark side free reign... without any resistance or reprisal.". He gulped, noting how Harry's eyes had begun to light up at the mention of giving his Dark side free reign. A very large part of him wanted to run away, the idea of willingly making himself so vulnerable to someone who clearly WANTED to torture him utterly abhorrent to his Slytherin instinct of self-preservation. 'But,', he reminded himself, 'he WAS acting on that very sense of self-preservation'. Steeling himself with reminders of what he would have to face without Harry he forced himself to continue, forcing out what he knew to be a nearly irresistible lure to anyone with a sadistic side, "Someone who hates you utterly, but must surrender himself to you completely.". The words came out softly, unwillingly, but they came and seared Harry's heart with desire. He wanted, no - make that needed, what Malfoy offered.

Draco Malfoy didn't know whether to laugh or cry when Potter growled out, "I accept you, Draco.".


	7. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is a sadist.  
> Enough said.

Draco POV

The floo wards ring. It's a special tone I set for Harry.

Moving quickly I place a bookmark in my book and exit the library to greet him in the living room.

I check my clothes as I go. Muggle clothes, light colours, elegance, a hint of feminity. Apart from the elegance, none of these would've applied to the boy I was in Hogwarts. But then again, that Draco Malfoy was Heir Malfoy and lived to please his father. Harry Potter's pet has a different set of rules.

I still remember the day we first formed our agreement, four years ago, now. Two days after Harry 'accepted' me, we thrashed out the rules of our engagement - or rather, Harry set all of the rules except for one that I pled and begged for. He was gracious enough to allow it.

1.) I had to be available to Harry at all times except when I was working (or in classes as I was during that last year). Harry could do anything he desired to me so long as he did not cause any permanent damage.

2.) Every alternate weekend, Harry and I would spend Saturday night together and Harry would fulfil the Veela's needs for proximity and affection.

3.) I was not allowed to make any attempt to contact Harry unless I had specific orders to do otherwise.

4.) I was to go out of my way to ensure that my existence and my association with Harry didn't cause any discomfort to his 'real' family i.e. the Weasleys, the Grangers, the Longbottoms, my aunt and her grandson.

5.) Harry would supervise all my activities, including the management of any and all inheritances (*cough* the Malfoy estate *cough*), and reserved the right to prohibit anything that even remotely resembled an involvement in the Dark Arts.

6.) Our association was to be kept absolutely secret. Only the Golden Trio, Ginny and my parents were allowed to know of it.

These were the rules my existence depended on. Rules that I had seared into my heart and soul lest I never forget them. Rules that I dare not break, because the breaking would lead to a loss too great to comprehend.

And the worst part? I loved him.

He'd left me covered in vomit and trembling from the Cruciactus. He'd made me write with a Blood Quill until my hand showed no sign of healing. He'd raped me raw - entered me unprepared and left me bruised and bleeding.

And yet. Every time I saw him I felt hope rise in my chest. I delighted in his attentions, even as my flesh bruised under his fingers and my rectum throbbed in agony. I felt gratitude as I screamed under the Cruciactus. I counted the days to the next Saturday he'd stay over.

As a child I had never understood how my Aunt Bellatrix could FEEL the way she did for the Dark Lord. But now I did - it was how I felt for Harry. We both loved our tormentors and I could only be glad that Harry was kinder to me than He had been to her.

By now, I had arrived into Harry's presence and gotten into position, kneeling demurely with my eyes cast down and my head bent even as I pulled my attention to the here and now and thought frantically.

Harry was quiet, though I was sure I had seen both anger and impatience in his eyes in the interval between entering the room and assuming the position. I worked on keeping my hand relaxed on my thighs, part of checking on the state of my nails to reassure myself of their perfection as I worked to not betray my tension. This was Harry's third unscheduled (read 'torture and abuse time') visit this week and I was not completely recovered from when he called on me two days ago. I had to get him to go easy on me. That meant relaxing my muscles and being very very quiet and obedient. Submissive.

That had always gotten to Harry.

He loved my submission. My vulnerability when I was in the submissive headspace. He loved to take it and toss it in my face. To mock me for it. I was just glad that I could please him with it. Anything that pleased him, I'd do. I was just glad that it agreed with my natural inclination in this instance.

I waited as Harry stood in silence, the tension coiling and thrumming. I knew the waiting was an intimidation tactic, KNEW it - but it still got to me. I wanted to scream. To yell. To just break this awful silence and get on with whatever Harry had planned. 'I do not have permission.' The words ran through my mind as I admitted the bitter truth of my silence. I was a slave to this man's whims. Why else would I do more than the rules required? Yet I dressed the way he liked me to dress. I ensured we had his favourites for dinner on our Saturday nights together. I learnt how to cook so I could do it myself. I bought him gifts for Christmas and his birthday though neither were spent in my company. Even after rounds of torture, if I could stand and move I checked him over for any injuries he might have incurred as Head Auror. I made sure he was supplied with all the useful potions his job could require, brewing them personally so I didn't have to worry about incorrect or badly - made potions. I supplied Wolfsbane for Bill Weasley and Teddy Lupin during full moons. They weren't Werewolves but the potion still made things easier for them. Supplying the potion made Harry happy. So what if it took me hours to make it?

End Draco POV

Harry surveyed Draco as he tried to get his rage under control. This was his third visit this week and he knew he couldn't do this anymore without Draco getting hurt. He WOULD NOT let Draco get hurt. Somehow, he had come to feel if not quite protective, very possessive of Draco Malfoy. Malfoy belonged to HIM. Be it his pain and tears during their torture sessions or his almost feminine beauty, grace and tenderness during their Saturday nights. His utter devotion and submission. Him. Draco was his and the thought that he might accidentally cause him permanent damage grated on his nerves. If only his Dark side would vanish. If only people would stop provoking it. But no, he was the Golden Boy, the Saviour, the bloody Boy-Who-Lived and that apparently made him public property. Hounded by reporters, hassled by Ministry toadies at his job - was it surprising that he was often angry beyond reason? And that was without counting the pressures of his job. 'Contrary to popular perception,', he thought sarcastically, 'criminals don't just walk up, hand over their wands and turn themselves in just because you defeated Voldemort.'. Noting how his little Veela was struggling so desperately not to fidget, Harry decided to relieve him. With a contemptuous laugh, he grabbed Draco by the hair, yanking his head up, noting the tearing eyes with grim satisfaction and a cruel smirk, "Anxious to get to your punishment, my pretty? Don't worry, we'll get there soon enough.".

Draco's eyes closed. Tension turned to dread. The waiting was over, but the dungeons were no less horrific. The chains with their mix of bright silver and rusty red. The stone - he had not known stone could stain with blood. He knew now. It was only a matter of spilling enough.

In some ways, Harry was the most cruel torturer a man could have. Nothing was sacred with him. Muggle means, Magical means. Rape and abuse. Harry owned him completely and he knew it, knew how to exploit it.

Draco panted on the floor. Harry had whipped him from the shoulders to the knees and then placed him on his back on the rough floor only to take him without any preparation and without allowing him to brace himself in any way. His back screamed in agony. His buttocks and thighs had taken the worst of it and he could only hope that Harry allowed him to heal himself before Saturday - he'd be damned if he ruined their dinner by screaming every time he sat down.

When nothing came, he forced himself to open his eyes to slits.

Harry usually liked to finish off the evening with the Cruciactus Curse or, if he was feeling particularly angry or malicious, its lesser known cousin the Cruciartis Curse. Why had he not done so yet?

Harry stood in the doorway, warring with himself. Part of him wanted to continue with his play. To see Draco's elegant lines dance under the Cruciartis Curse or arc to the Cruciactus - perfect in his beauty, his brokenness. Draco was beautiful in his agony. A tortured Draco was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

And yet there was the stubborn idealistic part of him. The part that was borne of the boy who'd die for his friends, who'd hold to his word & his vows, who'd believed it his duty to save the world. That part of him would not let him continue. It screamed at him to stop, reminding him that to do more would to risk permanent harm to Draco - would risk breach of the contract the blond boy had signed to save him from the evil that the Dark Arts brought to those who were exposed to them.

"Har- Pot- Mas-ster.", Draco gasped, finally getting the address right. "Why - did you - stop?" He could see the desire in Harry's face and the fact that Harry was fighting it had him panicking. What had he done? Had he displeased his Master? Had he screamed too much? Too little? Had he forgotten to thank him for his seed? His thoughts descended in a frantic downward spiral as the emotional pain of not being enough for his Master overwhelmed his mind and forced fresh tears from his eyes.

Harry moved back to the boy and clasped him by the nape of his neck, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Such a pretty boy. Crying so prettily. You're such a slut, Draco. Look at you. Whipped, raped, and still you beg for more, don't you? I bet you wouldn't protest if I decided to do it again, will you? I could slide into you right now, nothing but your blood and my come to lubricate you and all you'd do is beg to be allowed to come."

Draco met Harry's eyes silently and steadily, tears still leaking from the corners. What could he say? Harry was right. Even before the Veela bond, Draco had been a slut for punishment where Harry was concerned. Why else would he go out of his way to provoke him? No one provoked a boy who managed to get rid of a mountain troll and the combined powers of a Dark Lord and a Dark Arts expert in his first year unless they were begging for punishment. 'He bloody sword-fought a Basilisk at 12 and won. How could I have gotten away with a Cruciactus Curse at 16?' Draco often marvelled at his own youthful stupidity where Harry was concerned.

Harry remembered himself and released Draco, backing away.

Draco mewled, the loss of Harry's touch causing him to look for his Master. His Master wasn't satisfied yet - he had to satisfy his Master.

"Do it.", he whispered, "Do it then. If you want to. Satisfy yourself. That was our agreement.". "It was also our agreement to not cause you permanent harm, Malfoy. You've had all you can take.", Harry reminded Draco regretfully. He SO wanted to see Draco lose himself to the pain - there was a reason why he reserved Magical torture for the later parts of their sessions together.

Draco groaned under the burden of his Master's disappointment. "Fuck that.", he growled, speaking more to the floor than Harry. He knew Harry wouldn't pay him any attention now. Harry had decided that the session was at an end and therefore it was at an end. Now all he had to do was to resign himself to it. Maybe another reading on Dante would get him through it. Or a reflection on Penelope's desperation as she worked to keep herself for Ulysees. Only their sympathetic agony got him through the sessions of emotional torment when he disappointed his Master.

Only, this time Harry DID listen. He grasped his hair and yanked his head off the floor. "What did you say?" Daco noted the weird light of excitement and anticipation in his master's eyes. What was the man playing at? Nonetheless, Draco would answer him honestly. "I disagreed with you, Master.", he looked down, struggling against his Master's grasp a little, "I did not wish for you to stop.". "Why would you not wish to stop?", Harry asked, his voice almost gentle. "Have you not had enough?" Draco felt the familiar exasperation rise up in him. This man had always been able to drive him to distraction with just a few words and he was yet to lose the talent. His back had scarce an inch of skin left intact, his arse and upper thigh was shredded with welts and his arsehole was still leaking blood and come from Harry's rape ('Was it rape?', some part of his mind wondered. I certainly didn't fight or protest it.). HAD HE HAD ENOUGH? DID THE MAN THINK HE FELT BLOODY PEACHY? "I have, but... I'd rather take the physical pain and the possibility of nerve damage rather than the emotional pain of failing you, Sir." "Very well then."

Harry gently stroked the side of his face once before getting up and drawing his wand.

"Cruciactis!", the Boy-Who-Lived cried. The Cruciartis Curse was customised.

Draco felt as if his bones were breaking apart, his flesh burning, his skin melting. He did not attempt to control himself. Stoicism was not what Harry demanded of him now. His throat screamed. His body spasmed.

Harry smiled. "Beautiful."


	8. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Harry realises the existence of aftercare and Draco is confused.

Harry picked Draco up and carried him from the dungeon. Running a bath in the ensuite, he cleaned and healed the other man before placing him in his own bed before changing and joining him under the covers.

Harry did not understand this strange impulse to take care of Draco after their torture session. Never had he felt such an urge, such tender emotions towards the other man.

Even their Saturday nights together were awkward and forced. Draco's obvious joy at his presence made him uncomfortable. Laying with him made him feel guilty, as if he betrayed his wife, his Ginny. Draco was meant to be abused, to be tortured and raped. Being gentle with him had always nauseated him.

Yet being harsh with him had never felt right, either. Harry recalled. His sense of honour, such as it was, had never allowed him to let himself go - to take what he would not give - the entirety of their selves. But tonight, tonight Draco's words had set him free. For once he had not stopped to censor his words or actions; to check, every moment, to see if Draco had hit his limit. He had gone on and on, delighting in Draco's cries, in his beauty; until his heart was content - drunk on the exquisiteness that was his Draco.

And now he held his treasure in his arms. Healing him, guarding him. He did not want Draco permanently damaged. He knew, somehow, that such an act would leave him with unending rage and regret. So he cradled him close and healed the Healer and hoped for the best.

Draco woke feeling better than he had in a long time. For years he had lived with Harry. His life had been emptiness and shame - the burden of being someone's dirty secret. Before that, he had had the pressure and expectations of being the Malfoy heir. In between, he had known the mind-numbing terror of being an unwilling, unsuccessful Death Eater. This feeling, he guessed it was - contentment? It was something he'd never experienced. Even his nights with Harry had been fraught with anxiety as he watched the man like a hawk, trying and failing to prevent his unhappiness, his guilt. He had buried himself in his studies, in Potioneering and Mediwizardry and Healing but it had given him no succour. He became a Potioneer, the only ones who came to him were the ones who needed poisons. He became a Mediwizard, they sent him out as a paramedic. He became a Healer, they set him handling cases of injury and assault by rogue Death Eaters. Not for him, the innocent cases. The sick children, the household potions, the accidental injuries. Who would trust a Death Eater near a child or ask a murderer for Pepper-Up? No, he was damned by the mark he carried on his arm. The mark he had taken at his Father's insistence to save his Mother's life.

Draco turned over, only to realise that arms, familiar arms, encircled him. He froze. Harry. Harry was holding him. But... why? It wasn't their Saturday, was it? Draco's brows scrunched as he tried to remember what had happened. Harry had Flooed in... Whipping... Rape... Harry had said... Then he did something... All he had after that was a hazy recollection of more pain. Curses, he assumed. He was familiar with Harry's predilections after all. It was what came after that was driving him crazy. There had to have been something. He had to remember it! Harry had stayed, had healed & bathed him and held him through the night. This had never happened before. Even on their Saturdays together, Harry had always rolled clear after sex and curled up on himself, his back to him, as he slept. Had been curt and withdrawn on Sunday mornings, leaving as soon as he had assured himself that he had fulfilled his obligation to Draco. Draco needed to recall what he had done, so he could do it again. Anything that called forth this level of freely given care and affection from Harry was worth it, no matter how distasteful and degrading it may turn out to be.

Harry didn't want to wake up. But, someone was twisting and struggling in his arms. Why was Ginny... He blinked his eyes open as he remembered. Not Ginny. Draco. He'd stayed over. Had to stay over. Draco was hurt. His Draco was hurt. "Dray? Settle down.", he mumbled, not entirely willing to leave his nest, sleep still clinging to his mind and voice. He didn't even notice he'd used his private nickname for Draco, the one he used to himself when he felt unalloyed affection for the man.

Draco hadn't even realised that he'd started struggling as he tried to recall what had happened last night. Harry's words slammed into him, shocking him with equal parts of incredulity, self-disgust, hope and joy. I was struggling against him? I WAS STRUGGLING AGAINST HIM? He's going to think that I don't want him. Stupid, STUPID! How could I? How could I REJECT HIM? But wait - he didn't call me Malfoy... or Draco. He said 'Dray'. Dray? Did - did HARRY POTTER give me a- a NICKNAME? Why'd he give ME a nickname? Nicknames are for friends and lovers - Dear God does he consider me a lover? Could- Could he actually LOVE me? Mum said the curse wouldn't allow it. But, this is Harry. Harry never played by the rules. Could, could he love me?

Harry felt his companion's increased tension and reluctantly gave up on sleep. "Okay, okay we can wake up.", he grouched, unwrapping his arms from Malfoy. He briefly wondered why he wasn't feeling his usual animosity towards the man but decided to go with the flow. "You feeling better now?", he queried as he rose from the bed, "Stay in for a bit - I'll see to breakfast.", he added, wandering sleepily to the bathroom.

Draco gaped at his back. He felt like he had undergone a dozen highs and lows in the last couple of statements. The depths of regret and self-recrimination had been hit when Harry had disentangled them thanks to his apparent inability to lie still. This had been followed by the fear of Harry being upset with him for not letting him lie in in peace as he apparently wanted to. Finally, massive confusion blew all of it out of his mind. Harry was not mad? Harry was making him breakfast? Since when did Harry do ANYTHING like that for him? In fact, since when did Harry stay with him overnight when he didn't have to? And this morning - this morning had treated him as if he were a partner, not a burden, a partner - someone he CARED for - at least enough to feed him in the morning. The sound of the shower starting up brought him out of his ruminations and he suddenly realised that Harry would be out soon. As Draco fretted over what he'd do and how he'd behave, his Slytherin side came out to play. For years, Draco Malfoy had lived in a curious blend of constant terror and apathy - terror of displeasing Harry & losing their agreement and apathy for the knowledge that all his life would offer him would be pain. To be a Slytherin would have done him no good in such a situation and so it appeared as if his Slytherin side had gone into stasis leaving a man who studied and worked like an automaton - a man who could hardly be said to have a personality - a Ravenclaw, perhaps, with his multiple accomplishments; but precious little else. But now, something new had happened - he had been given an opportunity, a chance to change the status quo and the Slytherin that had wrangled the agreement rose again - this time to humanise himself in Potter's eyes.

Harry got out, made breakfast, ate it with Draco and Floo'd away shortly after to get dressed before going to work. Things seemed to have gone back to normal; this time when Harry came to stay the Saturday, he brought a suitcase.

Draco couldn't figure out what was happening. Was he truly that good? Or was something more at work? Harry tortured him more severely now; but he cared too. He would hurt him to near insanity but then care for him afterwards. Aftercare was something Draco had never experienced before but found to be truly enjoyable. He'd stay over too, and make him breakfast in the mornings. He had a share in the drawer and wardrobe space. His supplies mingled with Draco's and two toothbrushes sat on the counter. It didn't happen overnight but slowly Harry's life mingled with Draco's. It was not that he left Ginny but somehow, he extended over to Draco as well. Harry's mug appeared in the kitchen cupboard, Harry's favourites in the pantry, his favourite channel subscriptions alongside Draco's. Slowly, two lives meshed together and Draco learned to relax in Harry's presence. Oftentimes, he wondered back to the first time Harry stayed over and wondered what had brought him to this strange period of grace and wondered what would happen when it came to an end. Then he was invited to Christmas and then the son he bore Harry was invited to playdates with the brothers Ginny bore and then he was named godfather to a certain Lily Luna Potter and he learned never to doubt again.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where things are finally clarified.

Harry saw Albus onto the train before excusing himself from Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Lily Luna.

Then he turned and strode down the platform. "Astoria.", he nodded to his estate manager and Ministry representative. Due to Harry's multiplicity of titles, it was impossible for a law to pass without his knowledge and rare for it to pass without his approval. Also, the Patriarchal Council found it impossible to acheive quorum without his presence. Since he did not wish to devote his time and attention to these affairs, Harry had looked for someone who could do it for him. Though it had initially caused no little conflict between him and Hermione (who wished for him to actively use his political power to support her policies) Harry had searched for an appropriately trained Slytherin to serve as his deputy. He had found her in the person of Astoria Greengrass. People said that women got into Slytherin because of their ambition to find wealthy husbands. Harry said that those people had never met Astoria. Astoria had been two days from her wedding to Theodore Nott when Harry had formally offered her the job. Nott had promptly thrown a tantrum and asked her to refuse Harry if she wished to retain their engagement. Six hours later, an unengaged, disinherited Astoria Greengrass had turned up at the Potter residence to inform Harry that the job had better come with a decent place to stay. Harry had directed Draco to choose something appropriate and Astoria found herself housed at 12, Grimmauld Place.

Now, Harry signalled Astoria to back off a little and give him some space with his other family. The world believed that Astoria had eventually seen the light and married Draco Malfoy. This appearance was strengthened by the fact that she always appeared on Draco's arm at social functions. In reality, however, Astoria was still single and living comfortably at Black Manor. Scorpius Malfoy was the result of a male pregnancy and the son of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

Harry squatted down to look in the emerald eyes of his third son. Scorpius refused to meet his father's eyes, instead developing a fascination with the toes of his shoes. Harry reached out to tip up his son's chin, "Hey. What's wrong?". "I-", Scorpius shuffled a little, "I'm sorry, Dad! I'll try my best not to... But please don't stop liking me!". Harry was shocked out of his mind at Scorpius' reaction. Scorpius had inherited his restrained public demeanour from his other father and Harry had never seen the Heir Malfoy to betray such emotion in public, not since the purchase of his first professional-grade broomstick at ay rate. Resting his hands on the boy's shoulders, Harry spoke quietly but firmly, "First off, there is nothing you could do that would make me love my son any less. (And yes, I love - not just 'like' but love - you.) Now that we've got that out of the way, mind telling me exactly WHAT has got you so worked up?". "I - Papa told me all Malfoys have gone to Slytherin with a very few in Ravenclaw... I'll try to get put in Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin but if the Hat puts me there anyway - everyone knows you were a Griffindor and that Griffindors hate Slytherins and I can't stand the idea of you hating me!", the young boy cried, all but sobbing outright. Harry hesitated for just a moment before deciding 'Secrecy be damned - his son needed him.' and gathering Scorpius in his arms. "It wouldn't matter one whit to me, brat. The Hat put your Papa there and want me to follow him as well. If you're in Slytherin then you inherited that position from BOTH your parents and we'll BOTH be proud of you, understand?", he held Scorpius off now, looking him in the eyes, "There's nothing wrong with being cunning or ambitious and you're the son of a Parselmouth and the current Duke Slytherin. So long as you avoid the Slytherin penchant for overweening arrogance and hexing others in the back I'll love you and support you no matter what House you get into - understood?". The boy nodded softly, his wet eyes shining with more than tears, "Yes sir.". "Good, now get on that train before it leaves without you."

Scorpius bid farewell to Draco and his godmother (Astoria) and got onto the train, waving madly at his fathers and godmother as he did so.

As the train puffed out of the station, Draco spoke to the man beside him without turning, "If you do not hate Slytherins, then why did you hate me?", he turned to Harry, his vulnerability showing on his face, "You fought tooth-and-nail against being placed in Slytherin. You refused my hand when I offered it. You split me open in our sixth year. Why?".

For once, Harry didn't play with Draco's vulnerability. He understood that this was a turning point in their relationship and he had to give Draco confidence in their relationship. The fact that Scorpius had thought that his House could change how he felt towards him had shaken him badly; and yet he understood why Draco had not been able to give their son the assurances he'd needed - Draco himself had never been given any assurance that what they had was real and permanent.

He slipped an arm around Draco's waist and spoke to him softly, "You insinuated that Muggleborns - such as my mother - had no place in our world. You insulted the first person - that I remember - to ever treat me as a person - Hagrid. You insulted Ron, my first friend; and his family, who were kind to me. You displayed the same arrogance and narrow-mindedness that I associated with my cousin, Dudley.". Harry turned to face Draco, his expression blank, his voice impassive, "Yes, I split you open in sixth year; but I only did it after you attempted to Crucio me. I had suffered the Cruciactus Curse at Voldemort's hands - I decided to match your virulence with mine. I didn't even know what that curse did.".

Harry's face and tone may have been neutral but the very fact that they were so told Draco that Harry no longer held those events against him. They were just that - events. Facts that were part of their history but that now had no emotion attached to them. That no longer held them back from being one.

Draco wrapped his arm around his mate's waist and joined him in looking after the disappearing train.

After a while, Ginny came to get Harry.

A bit later, Astoria removed the privacy wards she had erected around her boss and his mate and led her friend away.

In another dimension, a long-dead soul and Death felt a curse lift.

Death bowed its head in wry acknowledgement, its Master had undone its curse.


End file.
